


The Week Before Hallowmas

by scarletalphabet



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Slice of Life, random fic is random
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletalphabet/pseuds/scarletalphabet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie has to explain to a perplexed Ichabod what exactly Halloween entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Week Before Hallowmas

**Author's Note:**

> Took a little creative license with the costumes part, but the mental image was just too hilarious to ignore. A silly little fic with allusions to Tom Lehrer and The Avengers.

Ichabod followed Abbie through the aisles of the local CVS, only half listening to what she was saying. He paused with nearly every step, distracted each time by some new oddity on the shelves. He'd become quite familiar with plastic since his reawakening, marveling at all of the wonderful ways they were using plastics nowadays, but was that a...pumpkin? With some sort of rudimentary face painted on? His hand landed on a piece of stretchy sequined fabric. Costumes? What on earth for? Witches certainly looked nothing like that if recent experience was any guide at all. Ichabod looked up, realizing that he had fallen behind. “Lieutenant?” he called softly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he was a grown man lost in a drugstore, though it seemed to be selling much more than medicine. He waited for what he reckoned was about ninety seconds before calling again. “Lieutenant?”

“Sexy witch?” Abbie read off of the packaging, popping up on his right side as he searched to the left. “Doesn't look like it'll fit, though the fishnets would certainly be interesting.”

Ichabod shook off the feeling that told him that remark was some sort of jape at his expense, focusing on the more pressing matters of what on earth all this frippery was for. “What is the purpose of such a garment?” he asked. “Surely one is not expected to wear such a thing? And to where? Though I have seen many examples of what passes for acceptable attire in this era I have yet to see something so garish as this. Looks nothing like a witch in any case.” His barrage of questions trailed off towards the end as he began to run out of breath. He took a breath to begin again but stopped suddenly at feeling Abbie's hand on his chest.

“Easy there tiger,” she warned him. She crossed her arms and tilted her head from side to side as though contemplating how exactly to phrase what she was going to say next. “Halloween,” she settled on simply.

“Halloween?” Ichabod echoed, puzzled by yet another unfamiliarity. “Do you mean All Hallows Eve? That which begins the triduum of Hallowmas and is properly followed by All Saints' Day and All Soul's Day? Although I suppose the latter has since faded entirely from Protestant churches if I can remember witnessing its steady decline.”

“Hallow-what now?” Abbie interrupted, eyebrows raised in confusion and incredulity. “You lost me at All Hallows Eve. That at least I've heard of. Though if Hallowmas is anything like Christmas I guess I should be grateful that we've been spared that advertising frenzy.”

“I take it that it has become more of a commercial festival?” Ichabod ventured.

Abbie snorted. “Along with everything else. But didn't they have some sort of harvest festival back then?”

“Harvest was celebrated for its own merits,” Ichabod explained, slipping easily into a professorial mode. His natural facility with doing so had made it the perfect cover for his presence in Sleepy Hollow. “But the Puritan presence from New England was wary, and at times rather aggressive, towards anything that could be construed as pagan or consorting with the Devil. Holiday celebrations, such as they were, tended to be religious in nature, at least where others could see. Exceptions were made for affairs of state or government, though with the colonies divided in their loyalties such displays were impolitic at best.”

“I'm beginning to feel stupid saying this so often,” Abbie remarked, “But I guess things really have changed.”

“Not stupid,” Ichabod assured her. “You are quite correct. I have been somewhat remiss in properly conveying my gratitude, but you have been a most welcome help in assisting me to navigate those changes.” He paused as a small boy came barreling down the aisle, shortly followed by his harried mother who hastily muttered an apology as her bag hit Ichabod's side. Once they were safely out of earshot again he continued, his voice tinged with an unusual sense of timidity, “I don't mean to be forward, but what would be considered in this time to be an appropriate token of thanks?”

“Oh...well,” Abbie spluttered. “Anytime. And gifts aren't necessary. But thank you.”

Ichabod nodded, letting the unanswered question slip away in the face of her discomfort. He could always ask Captain Irving later. The gentleman would probably appreciate a conversation, however brief, that had nothing to do with any unnatural threat to Sleepy Hollow. “So what is Halloween here?” he asked, steering the conversation back to a safer point and one that remained an object of curiosity. 

“It's become a night for dressing up,” Abbie told him, nodding back towards the sparkling fabric. “More for children than adults, though some adults do dress up and go to costume parties or bars. Children dress up as their favorite creatures, superheros, movie characters, and so forth, and go door to door collecting candy. It's called trick-or-treating, though only the odd group of rowdy teenagers ever truly carries out the threat of some kind of practical joke.”

“A bit like souling then,” Ichabod said, for once beginning to see some commonality. “Going door to door and sharing treats for the souls of Christendom.”

“Sure,” Abbie replied, sounding anything but. “Except envision hundreds of small children like that forty pound missile that just passed through here, each one hopped up on a pillowcase full of sugar. Some parents are wise enough to hide it away before they make too much of a dent, but not all of them.”

Ichabod had little reference for kids on a sugar high, but could easily imagine how impish behavior could be affected by something as potent as sugar, particularly when children were no longer expected to be seen and not heard. He fingered a red and gold child's costume. “I take it this is one of those children's hero costumes you mentioned,” Ichabod presumed. “Who is this man of iron?”

Abbie's shoulders shook as she let out a burst of unrestrained laughter. “I'm sorry,” she managed to get out between chuckles. “It's a movie.” She recovered and added, “Also a comic book character, but he's been pretty popular lately because of the movies.”

Ichabod shrugged. He'd seen parts of movies as he'd investigated the television, but nothing had captured his attention for long. “So children dress up as these characters, or whomever else strikes their fancy, and go around collecting sweets from strangers?”

“Well when you put it like that it does sound bad,” Abbie admitted. “But kids enjoy it. Then you get the teenagers, some of whom trick-or-treat like other children, except for those who would rather trick with no regard for the people whose property they're destroying in the process.”

“I'm sensing a story here?” Ichabod guessed.

“Several,” Abbie replied. “I'll be the first to say that I did some stupid things as a kid, but once you're on patrol on Halloween and have to answer to repeated calls of houses being egged, yards being toilet papered, and drunken teenagers doing God only knows what...let's just say that my opinion's changed a bit on the matter.” She shook her head in dismay. “Can't say I'm looking forward to it this year either.”

“The...events,” Ichabod murmured vaguely as another customer, this time an elderly woman, approached. “I understand your reticence. A day for ghouls and the dead does seem like a particular opportunity for mischief.” He tilted his head sideways just a tad towards where the woman was rifling through children's costumes. He glanced pointedly at Abbie as if to suggest that any further discussion of specifics would have to wait.

Abbie nodded in agreement. “Come on,” she beckoned as she led Ichabod out of the aisle. “If we're going to be standing guard against the apocalypse then we're going to need some chocolate.” 

Ichabod knew better than to comment on the seeming cavalierness of her tone. If a little cheer, false or otherwise, would bolster her already formidable mental fortitude then he was all for it. They turned away from the costumes and entered the candy aisle. Before he could even stop to marvel at the diversity of confectionery Abbie tossed three small bags into his chest, which he caught with a startled, “Oof.”

“Doesn't hurt to have a little bribing material to spread around town,” Abbie informed him, a sly grin on her face as she contemplated the remaining stock. She tossed another small bag on top of the stash that Ichabod was holding. “Captain Irving is a sucker for Kit Kats. You'd think it would be Snickers or something, but no. The Kit Kats always seem to mysteriously vanish from the Halloween stash in the break room before everything else.”

“Is that all?” Ichabod asked, rather surprised that Halloween required such a candy haul.

“Yep,” Abbie responded, leading him to the registers. “I think we're ready.”

“Ready,” Ichabod echoed. “I hope so.”


End file.
